


Fiber Frolic

by ishtarelisheba



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ish promptathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Rumpel takes Belle and Henry along to the Fiber Frolic, Maine's sheep and wool festival, where Belle has a moment of jealousy and Henry has more fun than he thought he would.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt - _white-throated-packrat said: Original prompt -- Rumple and Belle at a modern Sheep and Wool Festival, with Henry tagging along (other family members if you choose). Does Rumple spend a lot of time sniffing at machine-spun yarns, or does he get covetous of modern spinning wheels (you can just order parts! instead of having to get a woodworker to make them at high cost!) and modern looms (he could weave again with a countermarch loom). How much does he spend, and does Belle indulge him?_

It was Belle who arranged for Henry to drive them down to Windsor for the Maine Fiber Frolic. His recently licensed grandson had jumped at the chance to drive, but convincing Emma and David took a bit longer. Rumpel couldn’t be certain whether Henry had worn them down or Belle’s influence had an effect, but they’d given in at last.

Rumpelstiltskin would have far preferred going in his own car and driving them himself, but he’d reluctantly admitted that he was very likely to buy something that wouldn’t fit in the Cadillac. The trip down took less than two hours, and despite Henry’s nervous grandparents - _all_ of them - he was a conscientious driver. The interstate was very different from trundling up and down the main drag of Storybrooke, and the boy quickly realized that.

They left just after five in order to get there early, to have time to look around before workshops began. Belle had signed up for a class in silk painting, and Rumple chose a workshop on natural dyes in hopes of finding methods to add to those that his Aunties had taught him. Some of the vegetation he was accustomed to using didn’t exist in this realm. Henry had decided to tag along to the workshop with Belle, hoping to make something for his Grandma Snow.

The festival was overwhelming at first. It had been a very long time since Rumpel had been around such an enormous throng of people. Market days in the Enchanted Forest couldn’t compare. There weren’t this many people in all of Storybrooke. For a while, he sorted quietly through bags of clean wool and roving, and admiring rainbows of handspun yarn skeins while Belle stuck close by his side. 

“Do you want me to walk you to your workshop first?” she asked when Henry ran to take a bag of black angora and two bags of white wool back to the truck.

Rumpel looked sidelong at her. “And drop me off like a child on their first day of school?”

She grinned, tightening her arm around his where she held on as they walked. “Well, we didn’t pack you a bag lunch, but-”

He clucked his tongue. “I’ve no school supplies, either. You’re terrible at this,” he teased before leaning to kiss the side of her head. “I’ll be fine if you want to go on to your own class.”

“I think I’ll see you to yours,” she decided. “They’re all in the same place, anyway.”

He sighed, and though he wouldn’t say so just then, he was grateful for it.

Much of the dye workshop revolved around things he already knew, but he did learn of a handful of new plants he’d never before worked with. The attention he drew flustered him a bit, though. He was the only male in the small group, and that seemed to be a point of interest that he could have done without. 

They met up again over lunch when the workshops provided a break, the three of them going to avail themselves of the snacks being sold and to have a walk through the vendors. One of the first things that caught Rumpelstiltskin’s eye was a hand steamer for setting handspun yarn and blocking. It looked endlessly useful, and he quickly decided that he required one.

It was inevitable that the vendors for larger equipment caught his eye. “I just want to have a look at how things have changed,” he claimed as they approached a number of looms on display.

“Mmhm,” Belle hummed, playing along with his justification.

He had no intention of buying a loom. Not a single one. When he laid eyes on a countermarch loom being demonstrated, however, that went right out the window. The woman sat on a bench, working the treadles and sending a shuttle back and forth without ever having to step one way or another, he was immediately sold. 

_He could weave again._ He wouldn’t have to walk back and forth. The setup and size meant that he could sit and work without aggravating his leg. 

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, circling an unused loom on display, running a hand over the smooth wood. He would need to learn to use the thing, but he always was a quick study. After a short conversation and an exchange of cash from his wallet, the woman selling them put a tag on the loom he chose and they arranged for Henry to bring the truck down after workshops were over so that it could be loaded up. 

When they wandered into the displays of spinning wheels, Belle fully expected that they would leave with one. _At least_ one. His was a hundred years old if it was a day, and if she could have predicted his preferences in newer models, she’d have bought him one long ago, herself. He didn’t seem as interested in them as he had the looms, though.

“What do you think of this one?” she asked of a sleek and polished Saxony wheel.

He tilted his head. “It’s nice enough.”

“You wouldn’t like to have one?” Belle encouraged.

Rumpel shrugged one shoulder a little. “I like my old wheels.”

“Look though, Rumpel, you can just order parts from the vendor when something breaks,” she pointed out, and the young woman selling them nodded eagerly. “No more commissioning parts from woodworkers.”

He hesitated. It _would_ be convenient. Still. “I like my wheels,” he told Belle more softly. “I’ve gotten them worn in.”

She smiled, reaching to take his hand again “You’re attached to them.”

“A great deal,” he confessed.

Belle tugged at his hand and rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him. “No new wheel, then. Perhaps someday.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, his face pinking in response to the bit of public affection. 

He made up for declining the spinning wheel. Rumpel gathered paraphernalia as they made their way back through the vendors toward the workshops again, buying things as though he’d gotten a taste for it after the loom. There were the new pair of cards as well as combs, a clock reel, a finely carved drop spindle to add to his collection, a beautifully ornate nostepinde, and something called a ‘yarn pet’ that she had to agree sounded quite handy. 

Belle went right along with everything he wanted. He was spending a small fortune, and if he weren’t a sorcerer with a talent for spinning gold, she might have worried. However, he was in no danger of running short, and he constantly showered her with gifts while never asking anything of her for himself. It was easy to indulge him in furnishing for the one pastime he enjoyed outside of her company.

When Rumpelstiltskin’s workshop was done for the day, he waited for Belle and Henry to finish up in their own. Three of the half dozen women who had attended the dye class with him stopped to fuss over him and his proficiency with the task. He couldn’t very well tell them just how long he’d had to become so adept, and he was flushed red and very nearly devolving into stammered ‘thank you’s when his wife and grandson at last came out with their finished scarves.

Belle stepped right into the middle of the other women, lifting a scarf painted with an array of watery blues over his head to drape around his neck. She patted the ends down the front of his jacket, smiling up at him.

After having him sufficiently marked, she looped her arm through his with a clear, “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” that declared her claim on him aloud, had anyone managed to miss it.

“You acquired a few admirers, did you?” she asked as they made their way through the parking lot. 

“They were flattering my yarn,” Rumpel murmured, holding up the bag that held the few small skeins he’d done during the workshop.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she teased. “Your yarn.”

It took him a moment to decide that she was ribbing him and not truly irritated with him over it. He cleared his throat, turning the conversation on his grandson. “What do you think of learning the family business, Henry, my boy?”

Henry held the scarf he’d painted with a large bluebird in the middle for his grandmother, letting it flutter in front of him. “I thought the pawn shop was the family business.”

“The original family business,” Rumpel said with a smile. “You wouldn’t like to try your hand at spinning?”

“Oh. They had spinning 101 workshops here… I guess I could have taken one of those.”

His grandfather waved a hand. “Nonsense. I can teach you. It won’t cost you a thing, and I’m certain it will provide better results.”

“Yeah.” Henry smiled over at him. “Yeah, okay.”

“Your father was a fine spinner, as well, you know.”

“Really? Dad?”

“Oh, yes.” Rumpel nodded. “He could spin some of the loveliest nettle yarn.”

Henry grinned, going quiet and thoughtful. “They have a competition for sheep and goats. I was thinking maybe I’d see if I could raise a goat to show next year. D’you think maybe, since you and Dad raised sheep…?”

Rumpel reached over, laying a hand on his grandson’s shoulder to pull him closer. “I’d be more than happy to help you raise a winning goat. Tell me, you’ve heard of the golden fleece, haven’t you?”


End file.
